


The Masquerade Ball

by BettyBoop



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: Arson, Birthday Party, Ghost of Thornton Hall, Masquerade Ball, Mentions of incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyBoop/pseuds/BettyBoop
Summary: What happened at the masquerade ball, and the events leading up to that; the story of Charlotte, Clara, and Harper.
Relationships: Charlotte Thornton & Clara Thornton, Charlotte Thornton & Harper Thornton, Clara Thornton & Harper Thornton
Kudos: 1





	The Masquerade Ball

Deep in the island of Blackrock, in a dim corner where Clara's bed, much too small for three stubborn girls to be sitting on as they were, laid against the white wooden wall of her bedroom, an absorbed Charlotte leaned closer to the oil lamp hanging on the wall by Clara's headboard, so that the half-finished dress in her journal could catch light as she sketched the rest of it. Clara was resting while holding her taut, overgrown tummy, and Harper couldn't quite find a way to rest her head comfortably as her bountiful, unbrushed hair ever so often got caught under her and pulled. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to finish with reading the last chapter of _Rebecca_ for the umpteenth time. 

Clara pulled up the neck of her long, modest nightgown, which fell down slightly when she sat up a little to dull the pain she felt in her sides. One of Charlotte's two braids fell near her face as she bent forward to get a closer look at the dress she was drawing, carefully tracing the lace details on the collar of it. She crossed her feet, which were covered with two different ankle socks, both of which smelled potent and like a hard day's work. She uncrossed them again and lightly bumped her satchel, which was brown leather and had an embroidered floral design she had made herself. It laid at her feet on the ground, where she dropped it when she came back home from work.

Charlotte sighed, laying her pencil in between the pages of her journal before closing it and setting it down on the bed beside her. She fiddled with her locket as she did so often, and Harper imitated her by setting her own book down, as she had just finished reading it at nearly the same time as Charlotte finished her dress design. She sat up and turned toward Charlotte. "So, what kinda dress and mask are you gettin' gussied up in for your birthday party?" she asked her sister.

Charlotte smiled sheepishly, looking down at her fingers as they played with her locket. "Well, I may be sorta, kinda... making them from scratch..."

Harper gasped dramatically, pulling her legs in to sit criss-cross applesauce, mirroring Charlotte. "Are you, now? You gotta show it to me!" 

Charlotte turned a little red, staring more fixedly at her locket. "Er, well, it's not exactly finished yet," she said, scratching the back of her head and dropping her locket to let it hang naturally and away from her prying, nervy fingers. "But it shouldn't take long between now and the party! I mean, it's still a whole week away."

Harper squeaked. "You're obsessed with those gothic-y victorian-y dresses, Charlotte, you really are!"

"Almost as much as you're obsessed with those 'gothic' romance novels, Harper," Charlotte teased. Harper fell backward onto the bed, giggling as she lifted her book into the air. 

"Nothing beats a candle-lit night in bed with _Frankenstein_ ," she argued, opening her book up again absentmindedly. 

"What's so romantic about _Frankenstein_?" Clara finally piped up, squeezing her eyes tightly as she situated herself, trying to find herself a comfortable position to lie in.

"You just don't get Gothic literature, Clara," said Harper, closing her book again and boredly throwing it to the middle of the bed. "Oh, Charlotte, just think! Your party's gonna be so grand! A masquerade ball, all those victorian costumes you love - it'll be so lavish!" said Harper.

"It's just wonderful, Harper. It does sound like a dream that's coming true," Charlotte said with rapt eyes gazing up at the ceiling. She flopped over flat on the bed beside Harper, making her overalls ride up her back and her braids go wherever they felt like.

"Aaaaand there'll be your favorite dish in the world - shrimp and grits!" Harper exclaimed. 

"Wow!"

"And and and! There'll be peach cobbler, and vanilla ice cream, and fried chicken-"

"Harper, you really went all out!" Charlotte cut her off, her sister's spoiling simply making her overwhelmed. She attacked Harper with a hug. "Bless your heart, sister!"

Clara stirred, her cravings going wild at the thought of all that mouthwatering food. "That does sound real good, Harper." 

Charlotte pulled away from Harper and brushed Clara's cheek. "Oh, little sis, I do hope you'll come out and see the party too, just for a little bit. It won't be the same without you."

Harper pressed her lips together and began tracing one of the flower patterns on the blanket.

"Oh, I don't know..." Clara trailed off, looking down at her enormous belly in her hands. Charlotte's eyes started to go shiny. Clara pulled her lips in. "But... it is your 21st birthday. I... I'll try and make it for you."

Charlotte squealed. "Really, little sis? Oh, that'd be marvelous!" Then she got up from the bed. "I almost forgot! I'll be right back!"

Charlotte sped out of the room as fast as her feet could take her. Clara and Harper exchanged confused glances, then looked around the room awkwardly until Charlotte ran back in with the biggest smile plastered on her face and a beautiful blue gown in her arms. "I made this just for you, Clara!" She twirled around and swung the dress so that it flew up, then sprinted toward Clara's bedside. "Oh, would you look at it, little sis? You'll be the belle of the ball!" 

"Charlotte! It-It's gorgeous," Clara said, grabbing it at the hem and feeling the silky fabric. "But... how long did this take you to make?"

Charlotte held her head up high and pulled the dress away from Clara. "Don't worry yourself about the details now!" She scurried over to a chair in the corner of Clara's room, gently laying the dress over and smoothing it at every crease. "I'm still working on your mask, but don't worry about that either. I'll have it finished in time for the party."

Harper huffed, crossing her arms. 

"Oh, Harper, it was gonna be a surprise, but I'm designing one for you too!" Charlotte quickly explained, making Harper beam from ear to ear. "It'll be beautiful too, you'll see!"

"The dress is fabulous, Charlotte, reall- rrrrr-aaaaah!" Clara grasped at her belly, clenching her eyes as she wrenched her body.

"Clara!" Charlotte dropped what she was doing and dashed over to Clara like a bolt of lightning, sitting at her side and holding on to her belly with her. "Is she kicking again?"

"Rrrrrgh- it just keeps happening!" Clara shouted, arching her back and squeezing her eyes tighter. Charlotte grabbed the cloth from a bucket filled with water that was sitting on the nightstand and started patting Clara's forehead, until she opened her eyes and her body fell back down onto the bed. She breathed deeply in and out, then began to sob. "Ooooh! I'm just like her!"

Charlotte dropped the cloth back in the bucket and turned back toward her cousin. "Like whom, Clara?"

"Like my mother!" Clara wailed. "My child will be a bastard child too, just like me!" 

"Don't say such things, little sis," Charlotte scolded her.

But Clara ignored her. "She's going to spend her life asking me where her daddy is, and all I will have to tell her is never, never! Because Austin's gone, Charlotte! He's gone, and he's not coming back!"

"Oh, Clara!" Charlotte hugged Clara. "It's not your fault he left."

Clara began to sob uncontrollably, her tears falling at will. "I'm all alone!" she shouted.

Charlotte squeezed her even moreso. "That's not true," she reassured her cousin. "Remember when ma and pa took you in after your mother died? Harper and I will be here to do the same for little Jessalyn. Won't we, Harper?"

"Of _course_ we will!" said Harper, elongating every word.

Clara pushed Charlotte away, then grabbed a hold of her hand and looked deeply into her eyes. "Charlotte, love, you've not suffered as I have. How I used to pray I'd go to sleep and wake up as you when I was younger," she said. "You have always gotten everything in life."

Charlotte pulled her hand away from Clara's like she'd just put her hand on a really hot stove. "Now, Clara, that just ain't true!" she shouted, tears forming in her eyes as she gripped her locket, nearly crushing it in her hands. "You aren't the only one with pain! We all lost ma and pa when that plane crashed five years ago!" 

Harper instinctively held Charlotte, sheltering her away from Clara. "Now, I know you're suffering mood swings right now, so I'm not gonna take none of it personally, little sis," Charlotte said after her heart calmed down. "We've all been here for each other in this house, and you have to remember that we all hurt! But we can care for one another, just like ma and pa did for us!"

Clara scowled, shaking her head as she stared at the wall ahead of her. "Marianna and Roger never cared for _me_."

Charlotte pulled away from Harper's arms. "What are you talking about, little sis?"

Clara exhaled. "Marianna hated my mother 'cause of me. She took me in 'cause she felt like she had to. She and Roger never even respected me, let alone cared about me."

"Clara!" Charlotte reproached her cousin.

"It's true!" Clara spat, standing her ground.

"No," Charlotte said, shaking her head over and over. "Ma and pa had all the room in the world in their hearts for you, Clara! They loved you just as much as they loved Harper and me!"

"Yeah, Clara. Did you ever think maybe you're just ungrateful?" Harper said, glaring at Clara.

"Harper!" Charlotte reprimanded her sister this time. Harper groaned and faced away from both of them.

Clara sat silently for a little, thinking to herself. After a while, she smiled wide. "I remember when I was a little girl," she said, chuckling dryly. "All the other girls would ask me if I wanted to play. I'd always said no, 'cause all I wanted to do was stay inside and draw these pictures... pictures and pictures that all had this... strange man in 'em." Charlotte and Harper exchanged looks. Charlotte immediately grabbed Clara's hand, and Clara let her. She knew the story. 

"Sometimes he was taking me to the park, and pushing me on the swings or the slide. Other times we were having ourselves a picnic, eating peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and drinking milk, and giving ourselves these silly milk mustaches." Clara blinked the tears that began to form away. "My mama was always in the pictures too. We were never doing anything all that special, just bein' there." She started laughing. "One time I remember showing her the pictures, and she'd just started crying. I kept askin', "what's wrong, mama? what's wrong?" But she'd just kept on crying her eyes out, and I'd ran to my room and I'd cried too, 'cause I didn't know what to do." 

Charlotte squeezed Clara's hand, biting back her own tears. "Clara," she said.

Tears forced their way out of Clara's eyes, but she couldn't stop laughing. "I remember every morning, as far back as I can remember, really... I'd go up to mama and I'd say, "mama, who's my daddy?" and no matter the weather, she'd always tell me she'd take his name with her to the grave. And I never found out who my daddy was."

"Oh, Clara!" Charlotte smothered Clara in hugs. "You have a family now!"

"I'm a bastard child, Charlotte!" Clara yelled at her cousin. "And a bastard in your ma and pa's eyes!"

"No, Clara!" Charlotte shouted. "Oh, how I wish ma and pa were here! Then they could tell you how much they really loved you, and you would know!"

Charlotte sobbed, and Harper wrapped her arms around Charlotte, comforting her sister. The girls laid like that for a good while before finally Charlotte and Harper sat up, and Clara looked into Charlotte's eyes. "What'll happen when you're gone, too, Charlotte?" she asked. "What'll happen to us? What'll we do without you?" 

Charlotte fixated on her locket again, twiddling it in her fingers. "I... haven't told you yet, but... well, I think perhaps it's time I did." She dropped her locket to hang down as normally. "I... had my will written. Just last year."

Clara sat up in surprise. "You did?"

Charlotte swallowed, scratching the back of her head. "Well, er... I had thought about what ma and pa did for me, writing out their wills and all, and I decided, well... that I should have Clara be the one to inherit the estate, and take over as head of the family business."

"You... you did that for me?" Clara asked, her eyes switching between both of Charlotte's, in search of honesty. 

Harper balled her hands into fists. "Shouldn't I have gotten to be the one though? I mean, I _AM_ your sister."

"Clara is our sister too!" Charlotte retorted.

Harper rolled her eyes. "She's not our sister. She's our cousin."

Charlotte threw an arm around Clara protectively. "Well, she is like a sister to me!"

Harper groaned. "Well, Clara's temper holds her back anyway," she argued.

"That's not true!" Clara shouted.

"See what I mean?"

"Girls!" Charlotte held out her hands, breaking the two of them up. "I've already had my will notarized! I think Clara should get my inheritance for the same reason ma and pa passed it down to me - because she is the eldest."

"She'll just make a mess of things," Harper continued. "Besides, I'll run the business just like you do, and do things your way. Clara will just want to do things her way, like always."

"Harper, stop it!" Charlotte roared, making Harper feel ten times smaller. "I know Clara will run things just fine."

Harper grit her teeth, accidentally pulling the thread she was playing with on Clara's blanket. "It's because you love her more, isn't it?"

"No! Not at all, Harper!" Charlotte cried out. She reached out her arms and held her sister and cousin. "I love you both, equally, not one more than the other."

Clara hugged her cousin back, but Harper shrugged her off. "Well, what if you up and croaked tomorrow, huh? You never bothered to tell her anything about a will," Harper scoffed.

Charlotte turned scarlet. "I just... I didn't want her to think I was leaving her or anything." Harper didn't take her eyes off of Charlotte, glaring daggers at her. Charlotte was practically sinking into the bed. 

"Will you let me see that will, Charlotte?" Clara asked. Charlotte agreed and opened her locket, where paper was folded up and stashed inside. "It's right here. Always on me in my locket," she said. She handed it to Clara, and Clara unfolded it subsequently and read it out aloud.

" _I, CHARLOTTE ANN THORNTON, A RESIDENT OF THE COUNTY OF CHATAM, STATE OF GEORGIA, DO HEREBY DECLARE THIS TO BE MY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT, DATED APRIL 16, 1988._

_I GIVE, DEVISE, AND BEQUEATH TO CLARA OLIVIA THORNTON, A RESIDENT OF THE COUNTY OF CHATAM, STATE OF GEORGIA, ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT (100%) OF MY ESTATE, PROPERTY, AND EFFECTS._

_IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I HAVE HEREUNTO SET MY HAND THIS 16TH DAY OF APRIL, 1988,_

_Charlotte Ann Thornton_

_THE FOREGOING INSTRUMENT WAS SIGNED ON THIS DATE BY CHARLOTTE ANN THORNTON IN OUR PRESENCE, AND SHE DECLARED THIS AS HER LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT. WE HEREUNTO SIGN OUR NAMES, IN THE PRESENCE OF EACH OTHER, AS WITNESSES._

_Avery Louise Skidder_

_Marshall Lee Winston_ "

"Well, it's all right there, written in blood," Clara said, a look of awe in her face. She handed it back to Charlotte, who folded it back up. Just as she was about to stash it back inside her locket, she caught the eyes of her parents in it. A sorrowful smile crept up on her face, and Harper leaned over to get a good look too. Clara joined them.

"If father could see us right now," Harper said, a wistful look in her eyes. Charlotte smiled down at her parents. "You've done an outstanding job runnin' the company with 'em gone, Charlotte. I bet you ma and pa are smiling in heaven right this very second, lookin' at us from above."

Charlotte broke into a big smile as a tear fell down her cheek, and she brought her two sisters into her arms. After a while, she pulled away, and Clara was smiling brightly, though Charlotte caught something of a sad look in her eyes. Charlotte's face instantly went pink. 

"You should head to bed, Charlotte," Clara said. "You'll be too tired for work tomorrow if you stay up any later."

"You're right," Charlotte agreed, and she grabbed her journal, stuffing it back into her satchel, which she swung over her shoulder. She kissed Clara on the forehead. "Goodnight, little sister."

Harper leaned in, and Charlotte moved her other sister's ever-unruly hair out of her face, then kissed her shiny forehead as well. "Sleep well, you two. I'll be up early so I can make breakfast before I go to greet my workers tomorrow morning."

"Now, Charlotte, who's the almost-birthday-girl here?" Harper asked, her hands on her hips. Charlotte giggled. 

"Okay, okay."

"Don't you worry, big sister, 'cause I'm gonna cook you up somethin' you won't forget tomorrow, just you wait!" Harper promised.

Clara rolled her eyes. "Oh, she won't be able to forget it, alright."

Harper squinted at Clara. Charlotte laughed boisterously. "I'm sure you'll whip us all up something tasty, Harper," she said, kissing her on the cheek one last time. "Goodnight, girls."

"Goodnight!" replied both Clara and Harper.

After Charlotte left, and Harper went down the stairs to her room, she went down the hall to hers. Wiggling her fingers in her pocket and pulling out the key to her room, she unlocked her door and was greeted with the lovely painting of Madame Fréret d'Héricourt, a beautiful work of art given to her by her parents on her 15th birthday, hung up above her mantel, where she could see the lovely Madame gazing back at her every time she entered her room. Sometimes she thought that the painting was winking at her, like it somehow contained a part of her parents' souls. But, being so often tired from working in the mill all day, she knew it must have been that her mind was simply playing tricks on her, though her heart liked to believe the other story.

She dropped her satchel by the door and sauntered to her bed, without bothering to change into comfier clothes. She fell back onto the bed and covered herself in her blanket, telling herself she would shower in the morning before work, when she wasn't as exhausted.

She began to rest her eyes, paying attention to her breathing as she did to lull herself to sleep. For some reason, though, her mind was being plagued by images of Clara. But it wasn't Clara as she knew her; it was an imagined Clara - a Clara when she was just a little girl. The little Clara was crying in her room, all alone, and she was holding onto a stuffed teddy bear. Charlotte didn't know if she was asleep or if she was hallucinating. 

Suddenly, a man entered the imagined Clara's room, and Clara gasped. The man had no face. 

Charlotte's heart began to beat against her chest, and the little Clara tried to hide behind her teddy, but her teddy wasn't big enough to cover her. Slowly the man started walking toward her, and he kneeled down. Clara began to shake. But when he reached out his arms toward her, she wasn't afraid anymore. The man brought the little Clara into his arms, and suddenly, she started to grow. She grew and grew until she became the Clara that Charlotte knew now, only she was smiling so wide, and so much more than Charlotte had ever seen.

Charlotte shot up in bed, sweat trickling down her face. She gulped, sliding off of it. Sighing, she grabbed a quarter-of-a-way's finished mask off of her nightstand, and began to work on it. She worked on it until she realized the sun had risen.

_**~** _

Charlotte's eyelids felt heavier than a pound of bricks as she heaved herself up from her bed. Groggily she walked over to her satchel, picking it up before walking out of her room and making her way down the stairs to the dining room, where she saw Harper cooking on the stovetop. Harper turned her head upon hearing her sister's footsteps. "Charlotte, you look positively exhausted!" she commented. "I thought we told you to get some sleep last night."

"I know, I know. I didn't mean to stay up so late," Charlotte apologized, sniffling as she took a seat at the dining table. "I just couldn't seem to get any sleep last night."

"Well, you're lucky I'm not an early bird, or else your breakfast'd be cold by now," Harper said, prying the egg off her pan with a spatula and plopping it onto a plate to bring to Charlotte, who smiled politely at Harper. The eggs looked a little, well... overcooked, in words. She picked up her fork and poked a piece.

"Don't just sit there. Eat it! Go on," said Harper, excitedly watching as Charlotte took her first bite. "Well?"

"Mmm! It's delicious," said Charlotte, fighting through the metallic burnt taste of the eggs.

Harper stared at Charlotte. "Come on, Charlotte. I always know when you're tryin' to fool me." Charlotte sunk into her seat, and Harper sighed as she put the pan in the sink before joining Charlotte at the table with her own plate of eggs. "It's okay, I'm no good at playin' housewife. I'm more fit for writin' romantic novels and explorin' abandoned old buildings in the middle of nowhere, not makin' scrambled eggs and cleanin' stovetops."

Harper watched, waiting for Charlotte to erupt in giggles, but all Charlotte did was stare at her eggs, which she was swirling around on her plate like an egg-whirlpool. "What was it keeping you up so late, anyway?" she asked. She looked around, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Was it those nightmares again?"

Charlotte nearly choked on her eggs, then began to look around frantically. "Harper! What if she hears?"

Harper huffed. "She hasn't come out of her room all day," she reassured her. 

"So? What if she decided to come down?" Charlotte said, and Harper rolled her eyes.

"So... did you?"

Charlotte closed her eyes. "I... yes." She sighed through her nose, swirling her eggs around faster. Her face started to turn pink, and Harper put her hand on Charlotte's.

"Come on, now, Charlotte," Harper said. "You did the right thing. If Clara knew..."

"I know," Charlotte cut her sister off. "It's for her own good." She set her fork down and put her head in her hands. "Oh, if only you had never snuck into my room! Then you wouldn't always have to remind me."

"At any rate, it's too late now to change things," Harper said. Charlotte hung her head down, and Harper turned to look at the clock above the stove. "You best head down to the mill now. Everybody's bound to be there soon."

"Oh, shoot!" shouted Charlotte, scarfing down her eggs before getting up to grab her satchel, then she leaned over the table to peck Harper on the cheek. "I'll be back in the evening if we aren't overloaded with work! Oh, and make sure you give Clara this." Charlotte handed Harper the finished masquerade mask for Clara. Harper took it from her and gaped at it, ogling its design, then watched as Charlotte left the dining room and turned down the hall to the cotton mill. 

Harper stood up from her chair and waltzed over to the stove to make some more eggs for Clara, whistling to herself as she did so. After she cooked them through, and they looked good enough to her, she slapped it onto a plate and climbed up the stairs to Clara's room. She set it and Charlotte's mask which she made for her down in front of her door, then held her fist up to the door to knock. Suddenly, a mischievous grin crept up her face, and she fumbled through her pocket, and pulled something out, which she dropped onto the ground. It landed a little farther from the plate of eggs, but just close enough to be noticed. 

"Oops," she said to herself before she knocked on Clara's door. "Clara, I made breakfast!"

Just as she heard Clara rise off her bed, she scrambled down the stairs and went off to the library to find herself a book to read for the day.

_**~** _

Clara swung open her door and was met with the smell of burnt eggs. Her lip curled up, and she glanced down and saw the plate that Harper fixed for her. She plugged her nose, debating whether she needed breakfast today. Beside it, she saw what looked to be the mask Charlotte had promised to make for her, and Clara bent down and picked it up. It was white and so intricate, and had a feather sticking out from the top. She gazed at it lovingly before she placed it on top of the dress Charlotte made for her, which was still lying on the chair in the corner of her room. 

She went to pick up the plate of eggs in front of her door, thinking she might pick at it and eat a little bit of it, just to get something on her stomach before her morning sickness kicked in as usual, but not before she noticed something odd in the corner of her eye. She stepped over the plate and kneeled down to pick the object up, studying it carefully in her hands. Glancing down the hall at the door to Charlotte's room, Clara thought perhaps Charlotte had dropped it when she went to work.

Looking back between the key and the door, she stood up, clutching the white key in her hand. She began to walk down the hall, thinking all the while that she should turn back, but... curiosity never hurt anyone, did it?

When she reached the door, she hesitated for a moment, the key in her hand inches away from the lock. She took a deep breath in before pushing the key in and turning. Slowly she opened the door, stepping inside and closing it behind her. 

The room was gorgeous. It was nothing like anything she had ever had. A beautiful painting hung over a beautiful mantel with many clocks, and many gorgeous paintings hung up on the wall on her right. She walked over to the one of a lady in white, who held a delicate parasol in her hand. She touched it with two of her fingers, feeling all of the detailed paint strokes. She hummed, swinging around to face Charlotte's huge bed, which had a princess canopy reaching toward the ceiling. She brushed her fingers on the musical strings of a harp beside it before sitting on top of her beautiful bed. Turning toward the nightstand beside it, she noticed a drawer underneath, with a lock on it. She jiggled it, trying to open it, but it wouldn't budge, so she got up to squat to its height. She clicked the key inside of it and turned, and the drawer opened, revealing inside it her cousin's journal - that forbidden journal that she never let anyone touch. Clara bit her lip. Charlotte surely wouldn't be home for hours. It couldn't hurt to take a peek, could it? She would never have to know.

She unlatched her cousin's journal, the first page of many being a design of a red and black-laced dress. Clara glanced up and saw that on a chair opposite the bed was a nearly finished dress that resembled perfectly the one in the picture. It was elegant, Clara thought, as she traced the design with her finger, wanting not to touch the real dress for fear she'd ruin it.

She turned a page, and she found something of a journal entry. She read it in her head. It was something about her day at work and a woman she had given money to when she went to town. She turned the page and read another entry, quite like the last one, but this one involved a deer that visited her outside the house, and she described how she fed him an apple from the orchard. That's quite like Charlotte, Clara thought. She flipped through the journal some more until she stumbled upon an entry of interest, from all the way back in April, last year.

_4/10/88_

_Harper has been reading my journal entries for the past week. She said that she was concerned for my staying in my room too much, so she picked my lock when I wasn't there and read my journal, every day that I had been at work. I'm so angry with myself. I have sworn her to secrecy, but it doesn't take away the fact that now she knows everything, and I don't know what I'm going to do._

_Though in my heart I know that I am doing the right thing, I am plagued with guilt about keeping this secret from Clara, for I fear he does not have much longer._

Clara's eyes flitted back and forth between the words, reading them over and over, her heart racing a million miles an hour. What was this secret she was keeping from her? Who is 'he'? What did Harper and Charlotte know that they weren't telling Clara?

She flipped the pages back a few entries before, making quick to read through them.

_4/2/88_

_Clara's birthday is coming up, and I want to surprise her with something. I'm going to find what she has been looking for her whole life, and I have an idea as to how I am going to do it. I am going to track down Clara's father, so that she can meet him for the first time - on the day of her 20th birthday!_

Clara's heart started beating out of its chest. Did Charlotte really find out who...?

She continued reading the entry.

_I want to start first by interviewing the people who knew Clara's mother, Rosalie. Wade was able to give me his parents' phone numbers, and I've called and asked them if I could stop by tomorrow, so that we could talk about her. I just hope I can get some answers that will lead me on the path to finding him._

She turned the page with haste.

_4/3/88_

_Virginia had all kinds of lovely stories to tell about her younger sister, Rosalie, but, just as Clara, she knew nothing about Rosalie's love life. Her husband, however, happened to have Jackson Thornton's phone number, and was happy to tell it to me. He was apparently Rosalie's father!_

_When I arrived home, I tried to reach him over the phone, but he didn't answer. I do hope that he'll pick up, and I'm determined to keep trying, for I feel he may hold the key to discovering the identity of Clara's father._

Clara swallowed as she turned the page again, her heart picking up speed.

_4/7/88_

_I've been trying to reach Jackson all week, and I'm growing increasingly worried about him. I wonder why he doesn't answer. Harper has seen me at the phone numerous times now, and I think my habit of talking to myself gets me into more trouble than I know. She is wondering who this 'Jackson' is and why I'm trying to get a hold of him, and I told her it's nothing she needs to worry about, but she won't stop pestering me about it._

_Still, I'm not going to give up on him._

Clara's fingers shook slightly as she turned to the next page.

_4/8/88_

_Finally, I was able to get a hold of Jackson. He told me that he was sorry he couldn't get the phone before, and that he's been having trouble getting out of bed for the past month. I told him about Clara, his daughter's daughter, and that I was trying to find her father, as a gift to her for her twentieth birthday. He was silent on the other end for quite some time before he told me where he lived, and that he would tell me everything if I come by tomorrow._

_Somehow I feel I may be getting myself into something I didn't prepare for._

Clara turned pale, opening her mouth to speak out loud to herself. "She talked to... my grandfather? But I was never..." 

She almost ripped the page as she turned it over, her hands shaking all too much.

_4/9/88_

_I don't know how to begin this entry._

_Clara's mother had a reason she didn't tell Clara all those years, and now I know why._

Clara gulped before she continued to read.

_I went to his house today. He looked positively ill._

_He said that he had been so tired lately, and felt nearly unable to get up from his bed. He told me that he had developed liver cancer only a few months ago, and he didn't think he had much longer to live, but he was grateful to be able to share his story with me before he went._

_I never could have thought he would tell me what he told me early this afternoon. He didn't leave a thing up for the imagination. He told me everything, plain and simple._

_I would be lying if I said that I wasn't, in some strange way, moved by his story, but sometimes I wish that lying came as easy as telling the truth._

_He told me about his wife, Whitney Rainey, who divorced him a year before she died, and how devastated the family was. They'd become so broken. He said he had turned to drinking every night, and told me how he had become a shell of the man he was when Whitney was alive. He said that his three girls gave him comfort, and did everything for him, but he had felt like he failed them. He thought he couldn't set an example for them, and thought that they didn't have a real father, because he was supposed to guide them through life, rather than the other way around._

_He told me how his two daughters, Marianna and Virginia, had grown to resent him as they got older, and left the house as soon as they could._

_But then he told me about Rosalie - or Rose, as he called her. Rose stuck by him, and she loved him. He told me how she almost never left the house, and that she was always there for him, worrying for him. She stayed with him until she was twenty-five years old, long after her other two sisters had gone off and gotten themselves married. He told me how Rose had never been with another man but him._

_Then he said he broke her heart. He said he took from her what she could never get back, and had felt so ashamed of himself that he told her to leave, for her sake, and she did, for she was so scared of him. His heart was as shattered._

_But he knew it wouldn't be right, and that his Rose would understand one day. She kept her secret in her heart until the day she died, for she did start to understand. He said that her death had broken him far more than his wife's, and that it was what drove him deeper into his stupor. His liver was unable to withstand the choices he'd made._

Clara's breathing hitched as she put together the pieces in her head, but without jumping to anything, she continued to read.

_After I listened to everything he had to tell me, I had nothing to say. I got up to leave. I didn't want to hear any more. I didn't think he deserved any respect I had left to offer him, but when I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand. I knew it had taken so much strength for him to do it, so I turned back._

_He wanted to tell me just one more thing before I went. He said he regretted nothing more than what he did - not just to Rose, but to all his daughters. He said he felt like a ghost; physically present, but never there._

_I left his house later with a kinder view of Clara's grandfather. I should hate him for what he did, as I know Clara would. He made me promise not to tell her right as I left, but he didn't have to, for I know in my heart that if Clara knew, she would do something terrible to herself. But now I'm finding it harder to go on, knowing what I know and keeping it from her. I wish ma and pa were here sometimes. They always knew what to do. But they have left me all alone to take care of my sisters. Perhaps, though, they knew that they were just what I needed to keep me from doing what my heart desires, and be with ma and pa for eternity._

_If I ever am to lose myself, I don't think my soul will rest easy if I do not at least have a plan for them; so I am naming Clara my heiress._

_Before I go to sleep tonight, I will seal this entry with a conclusion to my research, though I expect and hope no one to ever read this but me - that Clara's father is, in fact, her grandfather, Jackson Thornton._

The journal fell out of Clara's hands, dropping to the floor with a loud _thud_.

She grabbed a hold of her belly and stood, steadying herself on the post of the bed, but her body gave way, and she fell to her knees and bowed forward, purging whatever was in her stomach out onto the floor. 

She breathed deeply in and out, as she did to help with her morning sickness. Her arms began to tremble as she tried to hold herself up, but her walls were not steady enough, and she collapsed.

She screamed; one long, breathless scream. Not a scream that would shake up the house, but a scream that only she could hear, for she did not have the strength to scream in the way she wanted to. 

She sat herself up finally and looked back, where Charlotte's journal lied face down on the floor. Slowly she reached over to pick it up, her lips quivering, and opened it again, looking through the entries after the last one she had read until she could spot his name again. She found one entry from October of last year. 

_10/25/88_

_Wade's parents called me this morning. Jackson passed away in his sleep last night._

_Half of me feels like I did the right thing, but the other half curses me._

_I wish I could tell Clara, but she would hate me forever, I just know it. I can't bear this life any longer. Ma has come into many of my dreams to tell me to hold on, and I am trying, ma, but it is becoming so hard._

"No, no, no."

The journal trembled in her hands, and she cried out in agony. Tears dripped onto the paper, and she squeezed her eyes shut and began to sob. She closed the journal promptly and laid it back in the drawer, closing it and locking it. She gasped out for air, looking around Charlotte's room. When her eyes landed on the dress on Charlotte's chair, she slowly walked over and picked it up, gently stroking the soft fabric of it.

Then she grabbed at the sleeves, and began to tear them off. She tore the dress in half, and ripped those halves into halves, and then she threw the pieces of fabric into the air and let them fall onto the floor. She screamed, finding she could do nothing else. 

As quickly as her feet could take her, she ran out of the room, shutting the door behind her. She steadied herself on the walls and used whatever she could around her to get back to her room, and she slammed her door and locked herself in.

_**~** _

When Charlotte came back home, she wiped the sweat from her face as Harper ran to greet her with a hug as usual. "Come join me in the library so we can read together, Charlotte!"

"Oh, I'd love to, Harper, but I'm feeling so tired tonight," Charlotte explained, feeling a little guilty upon seeing the frown on Harper's face. "We'll read to each other in the morning. I'll get up as soon as the sun rises."

She kissed Harper on the forehead and went up the stairs to her room, unlocking her door. As soon as she opened it, she saw the pile of red fabric lying all over the floor, and she fell to her knees.

"My... my dress!" she shouted, picking up what was left of it.

Harper came running up the stairs and into Charlotte's room, falling to her side. "Clara must have done it!" she exclaimed, glowering. "She's jealous! She hates when anyone gets any joy in life!"

"But Clara would never do something like this," Charlotte said, unable to understand what had just happened.

Harper grabbed Charlotte's face. "You are blind, Charlotte! She's always been this heartless. She manipulates you 'cause of your kindness, and sucks the joy out of everyone's lives so she can feel better about her own! She's nothing but a soulless wench."

Charlotte held back her tears, the fabric in her hands shaking. "This can't be true."

"Don't you remember what she said to you last night?" Harper asked, dropping her hands from Charlotte's face and grabbing a hold of her shoulders instead. "She said she wanted you to suffer! She couldn't stand all that talk about your birthday party, so she had to change the subject and make it about her and her tragic life, like she always does!"

Charlotte's lip trembled. "No. That can't be..." She looked back at the shreds of fabric in her hands. "Maybe she got into my journal and saw..."

"Impossible!" Harper cut her sister off. "You lock that in your drawer now, and no one can get in unless they have your key!"

"But... but how did she get into my room?"

Harper laughed. "She just did the same thing I did. She picked the lock."

Tears ran down Charlotte's cheeks as she clenched the fabric in her hands. Harper flipped Charlotte around to look at her. "Hey," she said, looking into her sister's eyes. "It's not your fault, Charlotte. She manipulated you."

"I... I just..." Charlotte gasped for breath between her sobs. "Just don't... don't understand."

She dropped the fabric when Harper pulled her in for a hug. "I've always tried to warn you," she said, swaying her sister back and forth to comfort her. "That Clara is a witch."

Charlotte allowed herself to cry in her sister's arms until the sun had fallen down, and Harper offered for Charlotte to sleep in her room that night. Charlotte declined and said she would be okay up in her room, so Harper wished her a goodnight and kissed her on the cheek before she left. Charlotte stood and went to her bed, turning on her lamp and pulling her key out. She unlocked her drawer and grabbed her journal, and a pen inside. She flipped to the next empty page after her last entry, sniffling as she put her pen to the paper.

 _I'm worried about her_ , she wrote. _She seemed to always be so close to slipping off the edge, and doing something completely crazy - and now it's getting worse than ever._

She wiped away a tear that threatened to fall and started a new line. _I wish there was something I could do to help her, but I think it might be too late for that._

As she set her pen between the pages of her journal, she closed it up and locked it back in her drawer, and fell back onto her bed. All she could think about was Clara, and her will. She thought about her ruined dress, and shut her eyes with furrowed brows. But not matter what she did, she just couldn't drift off to sleep.


End file.
